


I felt the strangest emotion (but it wasn't hate)

by thechapwiththearms



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, First Meetings, Fix-It of Sorts, Gay George, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, cary is awful, dwight is sweet, gay dwight, george is a gay disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechapwiththearms/pseuds/thechapwiththearms
Summary: Wherein George goes to Dwight instead of Francis for the names of those involved in the Carnmore Copper Company.
Relationships: Dwight Enys/George Warleggan
Kudos: 14





	I felt the strangest emotion (but it wasn't hate)

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly canon divergent, as Dwight and George meet later than they actually do in S1.

“I hear he's, you know, more _inclined_ towards men,” Cary explained in a hushed tone, mouthing the last word as if it were blasphemous.

George visibly swallowed, “Is…is that so? Where on earth did you hear that?”

“Paid a visit to the Red Lion earlier. Gossip flies amongst the lower classes, nephew.”

“I see.”

As was customary these days, George and his uncle were plotting against Ross Poldark. In this instance, the pair were pitching ideas as to how they could acquire the names of the members of the captain’s newest venture, the Carnmore Copper Company. George had attempted to garner information from Ross’s cousin Francis, but, as it transpired, he had turned out to be more loyal to his relative than was first assumed. Attempts to infiltrate the company thus far had been fruitless, and the Warleggan men were losing faith -- that was, until conversation turned to Ross’s closest confidant, Dr. Dwight Enys. George had suggested befriending the physician when his uncle disclosed his surprising discovery.

“If you were to--”

“ _What_ are you suggesting, uncle?” Surely he could not be insinuating…

“George, would it not be beneficial for our cause?”

“You want me to _solicit_ Dwight Enys?”

“Not ‘solicit,’ nephew, simply…win his affections. Gain his trust. Pursue him for a while.”

“Cary, I am not a homosexual.” George’s tone was stern, but his voice shook slightly.

“I am not suggesting that you are! I am simply presenting the easiest route to the names of the Carnmore men!” The older Warleggan folded his arms.

“I…” George dabbed at his brow with the kerchief he had been carrying in his breast pocket. “Okay. If only to bring down Ross.”

“Very good.”

George laid his kerchief on top of his desk and excused himself from the study. Cary's plan seemed ludicrous and the young banker was conscious of the scar it could leave on his own reputation if the doctor reacted adversely or if news ever got out. Not to mention, something primal within George made him consider the unfairness of taking advantage of Dwight in such a fashion; it seemed…wrong. Nonetheless, George was dead-set on infiltrating the copper company -- he viewed it as a personal affront to the Warleggan family forged from bitterness and petty hatred, and he would not stand for it. He only wished he could conjure some other means to tear it down.

All of a sudden, George heard the footsteps of a servant from across the hall, pulling him out of his thoughts. In the servant’s hand was a sealed note, which George accepted gratefully and opened at once. Upon reading, he gleaned that it was an invitation to a ball at the Treneglos residence. At once, Cary appeared behind his nephew.

“I suggest you attend.”

“And why is that?”

“Dwight Enys will be in attendance.”

_______________________________________

The lilt of violins echoed throughout the Treneglos’ large drawing room as George entered with some trepidation. Normally, the banker was not known for his sheepishness at social gatherings, but in this case there were, of course, extenuating circumstances. He nodded in gratitude as a manservant offered him a glass of port -- he accepted; he noted in passing that he may need a number more of such refreshments before carrying out his _mission_. Glancing between the countless new ballgowns and fine silken coats, Dwight was, at present, nowhere to be seen. As such (and with some relief), George took a seat beside John, the gathering’s rather overwhelmed-looking host.

After a minute or so of absentminded chatter with the Treneglos family, George caught sight of his target. Dwight Enys, clad in a navy cotton coat and beige slacks, entered the room and handed his hat to a doorman. Following behind him were Ross and Demelza Poldark, somewhat hindering George’s task, he thought with a grimace. Ross was not one for niceties, and held George in particular contempt -- he would have to wait until the friends had split from one another, which could be some time considering their closeness and Dwight’s uneasiness in high-society company. George watched the unsuspecting physician with an unfaltering gaze, wondering how in the world he was supposed to go about his uncle’s absurd plan.

To George's surprise, it took all of approximately five minutes for Dwight to abandon Ross’s company, albeit in favour of the men's room. Already three glasses of port down and hence reduced in his inhibitions, George excused himself from the company of the hosts. Gaze still decidedly fixed on Dwight, he watched him make his way down a marble staircase, through the entrance hall, and into the bathroom. Following and waiting around a corner, George felt as if he was going insane. He laughed cynically to himself at what he was considering doing -- it was as if Cary was trying to taunt him. He had been so careful to repress and conceal the attractions to men that he had experienced in the past, yet now he found himself about to exploit the very same feelings in another man. When he heard the door of the bathroom open once again, however, he forced the last of his apprehensions to the back of his mind and made his way around the corner, resolving to cross paths with Dwight.  
As he did so, he collided with the very man in question, causing him to spill the whisky he has just retrieved.

“Oh! Terribly sorry, sir. Are you alright?” George asked, feigning oblivion and taking a kerchief from his sleeve.

“Of course, don’t trouble yourself.” A smile.

“It's no trouble at all, really.” He handed the cloth to the taller man.

“Thank you, ah, I don’t believe I've had the pleasure.”

“George Warleggan of Cardew, sir.” He extended his hand, which Dwight accepted awkwardly whilst dabbing at his clothes in a fruitless attempt to dry himself of whisky.

“Dr. Dwight Enys.”

“Ah, a physician! Luck of the devil -- I have been meaning to ask after a cure for my dear uncle Cary. He's been having these terrible headaches, you see.” George began to walk as he spoke, and Dwight instinctively followed suit.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long have they troubled him?”

“Oh, a while now, around a month.”

“I should be able to attend on him tomorrow, if that suits. You said your residence was at Cardew?”

“I did, indeed.”

“Is 10 a.m. a suitable time?”

“Yes, of course. I'm endlessly grateful, Dr. Enys.” 

Whilst they were speaking, George had led the the pair back down the marble staircase and into a room considerably smaller than the bustling drawing room, recognisably a study -- little-used, judging by the coating of dust and uncut books piled on the desks. Nonetheless, in the corner atop an elaborate drinks cabinet stood a decanter filled with whisky and two glasses, shielded by a glass dust-cover. George swanned over towards the cabinet and lifted the cover.

“Shall I compensate for the drink you lost to me earlier?” George asked with a look of warmth.

“Thank you, if you don't mind,” Dwight smiled.

“Not at all,” the banker assured him, pouring two drinks. He could have sworn the room had gotten stuffier with their presence.

George handed one of the whiskies to Dwight, who had settled on an armchair embroidered with various pastel-coloured flowers. The former sat in a matching chair that stood directly next to Dwight’s, compulsively sipping at his drink to calm his muddled thoughts, which were racing about at an alarming pace. After a while, a comfortable rapport was built between the two men and they spent a while talking and drinking, often remarking with humour at the sorry state of the room they were in. George caught Dwight’s gaze as the pair were laughing and could not help but feel a pang of guilt at his own ulterior motives -- though, to his own surprise, George’s laughter and offhand chat came naturally. Was he _enjoying_ Dwight’s company? His forehead prickled with sweat at the thought; he reached for his kerchief, fiddling idly with his sleeve buttons when he realised that the man next to him still had it in his possession. Dwight noticed.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to hand it back to you.” Dwight pulled the piece of fabric from his jacket’s pocket and held it out for George.

“Don't worry. Thank you,” George replied, accepting the offering and quickly dabbing at his forehead with it.

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Warleggan? Are you feeling feverish?”

“I-uh-- no, I'm quite alright. And do call me George, I’ve never been a fan of needless formalities.” He silently assured himself that this was a friendly courtesy to win trust, rather than a concealed wish to hear Dwight say his name.

“Oh, okay,” Dwight answered, unconvinced. “...George,” he added with a smirk.

George looked down into his near-empty glass and laughed quietly at Dwight’s quip, struggling to maintain his composure. A fact he never readily shared was that he did not hold his liquor particularly well, and his companion’s playful tone did nothing to help his flustered state. Nonetheless, he felt the need to stretch his legs - the pair had been speaking for some time and he felt he would melt into the chair should he sit any longer. Placing his drink precariously on the arm of his seat, George stood, immediately losing his footing as he did so. Embarrassed, he dusted off his jacket and straightened himself back up. Dwight gave a slight chuckle and stood as well, placing a hand on the small of George’s back to steady him.

“Too much to drink?” the physician asked innocently, though his own face was somewhat flushed with liquor.

“I’m alright! Really, I'm alright.” George noted that Dwight had not removed his hand.

“If you're quite sure.”

Dwight slowly withdrew his hand from the banker’s back, his mouth curling up at the corners once again when the shorter man looked up at him, expression giddy and childish, a far cry from the agreeable but stern man he had encountered but an hour ago. When George caught sight of Dwight’s kind, genuine smile, his guts twisted with a strange mixture of guilt and endearment. After a moment of silence, the doctor’s smile fell but his gaze remained soft. Tentatively, took a step towards George and placed a nervous hand on his face, meeting his eyes expectantly.

For the umpteenth time that evening, George's heart thumped and his mind raced. This was an unambiguous touch -- a touch filled with affection and longing and one which rendered the generally astute man speechless and, for a moment, motionless. Throwing caution to the wind, George mirrored Dwight’s actions, placing a hand on the taller man’s cheek and further closing the gap between their bodies. Without a second thought, he finished the job and closed the gap between their lips. At once, any memory of the Carnmore Copper Company escaped George’s mind and he could focus only on the man pressed up against him. Dwight brought another hand to George's head and threaded his lithe fingers through his thick hair, ruining its perfect placement.

After a short while longer, the men parted, both of them dazed and breathing rather heavily. George grinned up at Dwight, who mirrored his expression and pressed both of their foreheads together, hand still planted firmly in his curls. George had at once forgotten about any obligation to his uncle or the cause of destroying Ross Poldark, both of which seemed negligible matters when under Dwight’s charms. Pulling away reluctantly, he picked up his glass from the arm of his chair and sat down again, gesturing for Dwight to do the same. Obligingly, the physician flopped down into the plush armchair and scooped his own drink back into his hands.

“You're very beautiful,” Dwight said, tone hushed as if there were anyone around to hear them.

“So are you.”

And so, the two men talked into the small hours of the morning, joking and swapping anecdotes of unrequited infatuations and high-society blunders. George felt a warmth and safety in the presence of Dwight that he had seldom felt elsewhere in life, and thus, he decided that such a rare feeling was worth more than any petty triumph over Ross.


End file.
